The Short Way Home
by Bleddyn
Summary: Has Alex finally found her route home? Set after Series 1. Final chapter now up!
1. Chapter 1

**The Short Way Home**

**Disclaimer. **I own none of the named characters, except Frank, who I'm pretty sure I made up. They belong to someone else, and merely took up brief residence in my brain.

**A/N. **This is my first attempt at fan-fic, and the first thing I've written for public consumption for a very long time! I'd love to hear your views. This first chapter is just a very brief scene-setter. The whole fic is pretty much complete, so you won't have to wait long for the proper story!

**1****st**** November 1981**

DI Alex Drake looked critically at her reflection in the mirror. Blue eyeshadow really was impossible to get right at 6 o'clock on a Monday morning, and she did sometimes wonder why she bothered. But it was part of her image now, along with the rather unprofessional clothes. Gene had once told her that dressing like a tart was part of the reason she was here, and at the moment that was better than anything she could come up with.

Not that she'd been trying to come up with anything recently. It was the only way to keep herself sane. Work. Drink. Shout at Gene. Laugh at Ray and Chris. Flirt with Gene. Work some more. Drink some more. Get so bloody tired she would sleep without dreaming. Anything to avoid thinking about what was happening to her and why she was here. Because since the bomb she just didn't know. That had been the one thing keeping her going. Stop the bomb going off: go home. But she hadn't done either. So was that it? Had she missed her chance? Was she stuck here? Did she just have to wait to die? Or not die? Or was she supposed to do something else? She just didn't know.

It was so hard to keep fighting when her opponent was like smoke - opaque and elusive. But likely to be deadly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Alex strolled into the station at 6.30 am, the sound of her heels echoing through the empty corridors. She smiled at the duty sergeant.

"Morning Frank. Busy night?"

"No ma'am. Just one would-be mugger who tried it on with a little old lady heading home with her chip supper. He didn't realise she'd got a half-brick in her handbag though – when we arrived he was out cold and she was sat next to him tucking into her cod & mushy peas."

Alex laughed. "I hope I'm that gutsy when I'm her age!" (_If I get that far_ flashed across her mind).

"I'm sure you will be, ma'am. Oh, no offence meant.…" a worried look crossed the sergeant's face.

"None taken – I hope you're right!"

She continued down the corridor, and pushed through the doors into the CID suite.

"Come on Drake, shift that skinny arse of yours, I'm dying for a brew." called Gene from his office. He was sat with his feet on his desk, flicking through a report file.

"Good morning to you, too, DCI Hunt. For your information I am going to put the kettle on, but because I want to, not because I feel the need to wait on you."

And she flounced off to the kitchen, smiling to herself. They shared a similar exchange most mornings. However early she got in, he was usually there first. She knew why she was trying to lose herself in her work – was he doing the same thing? Though he was as often playing darts as buried in paperwork, so she suspected he was sometimes there just to keep her company.

And she was glad of the company, she reflected, as she waited for the kettle to boil. _(Especially his. No, don't go there.)_ She enjoyed these moments of faux domesticity; the brief feeling of having someone else to look after.

She carried the tea back through to the office and put Gene's on his desk.

"Cheers, Bolly. You know, I think I'll buy you a maid's outfit for Christmas. I can just see you in a pinny."

"In your dreams!" she responded, raising her eyebrows.

"Every night, sweetheart. Now bugger off and let me get on with some work!"

Alex sauntered back to her desk, grinning. She'd got a pile of witness statements to go through from last week's armed robbery, so she pulled them towards her and started reading as she sipped her tea. Whoever had taken the statements had appalling handwriting and an even worse grasp of spelling and punctuation, so more concentration was required than usual and she was soon absorbed in her work. Before long, however, she became aware of the telephone ringing out loudly in reception. She idly wondered where Frank was. Doing the handover with Viv, maybe. It would soon transfer through to CID if it wasn't answered. Sure enough, the phone on Ray's desk began to ring. Alex walked over and picked it up.

"Good morning, Fenchurch East Police Station. DI Drake speaking. How may I help?"

"Morning, love. Have you got a pen handy?" answered a male voice with a strong Irish accent.

"Of course. How can I help?" replied Alex.

"Just to show you lot we're not all ignorant Paddies, I've got a little puzzle for you to solve. Write this down: 'Bringer of sorrow, portent of doom, the bar on the road of nine, at 12.30 BOOM!' " He shouted the last word, and hung up.

Alex looked at the paper in front of her. "_Shit!_" she thought. Not a good start to the week.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Many thanks for the encouraging reviews. Sorry it's taken me a while to update - real life intervened!**

**Chapter 3**

Alex strode into Gene's office, where he was now apparently busy doodling.

"Interesting phone call?" he asked

"Bomb threat" she replied, succinctly. "Irish accent, and he told me to write this down" she continued, gesturing with the sheet of paper. "It's meant to be a puzzle of some sort – he said it was to show they're not all ignorant Paddies."

"Because obviously planting bombs and killing innocent bystanders is the action of a highly intelligent group of human beings." growled Gene. "Not our problem, anyway – give it here and I'll call Special Branch."

Alex handed him the sheet of paper and headed back to her desk, just as Ray and Chris entered noisily.

"Morning ma'am!" they said in unison.

"Good morning boys – you've already missed today's excitement."

She told them about the phone call.

"Do you think it was genuine? Was it the same informant you had for the Prices' bomb?" asked Chris, eagerly.

"Maybe and no" answered Alex, trying to block out thoughts of the last bomb she'd tried to stop _(a smiling clown, a red balloon, fire and noise and despair). _Chris looked confused.

"Maybe genuine and no, not the same informant" Alex elaborated. "Anyway DCI Hunt's reported it to Special Branch now, so it's not our problem any more."

"Or was it?" she thought as she sat down. Was it coincidence that she'd taken the call? Was this something she had to solve herself? Her way home at last? She tried to quell her growing excitement. It was probably another dead end. But it wouldn't harm to look at the rhyme again, and it had to be more interesting than those bloody witness statements. She wrote down the bomber's words:

"Bringer of sorrow

Portent of doom

The bar on the road of nine

At 12.30, boom"

OK, so the last line seemed pretty self evident – explosion at 12.30. Lunchtime presumably. Better to assume that – less harm in being 12 hours early than late. She stared at the first line. What was a bringer of sorrow and a portent of doom? The grim reaper? A banshee? A black cat? That was more like it.

"Ray? Is there a Black Cat nightclub in the area, or something like that?" she called across the office.

"Don't think so. There's the Blue Pussycat, but that's probably not your cup of tea." He raised his eyebrows at Chris, who said "Oh, is that the place where they wear feathers in their…"

"All right" interrupted Alex, holding her hands up "Thank you so much for your valuable help. Where's Shaz, Chris? I could do with some intelligent input."

"She's at the hospital this morning" explained Chris. "She's OK" he added hurriedly, seeing Alex's concerned expression. "Just a check-up to see everything's still healing OK. She'll be in later."

Alex went back to her puzzle. She was drawing a total blank on the portent of doom. Perhaps it was just there to rhyme. The 'road of nine': that was the important bit. It had to be the location of the target.

She pulled the London A-Z out of her drawer and began leafing through the index. No Nine Road. There was a Nine Street – she checked the map hurriedly but no, it was well off their patch. And she had to assume the bomber had called here because the target was local. Back to the index. Nineways Road – no, that was the other side of London as well.

Think, Alex. She leaned back, looking at the familiar black and white ceiling. She spun gently to and fro in her chair, and had a sudden memory of doing the same thing with Molly when she was little. Molly had been about a year old at the time, and Alex had to take her into work briefly for some reason, and she could remember spinning round on her office chair, cuddling the laughing little girl, Molly's soft hair tickling her face like feathers.

Feathers. Black and white. Alex sat up in her chair quickly. Bringer of sorrow. One for sorrow. "Magpies!" she exclaimed.

"Pardon, ma'am?" said Chris.

"The magpie rhyme – I think it's the key to the bomber's puzzle. One for sorrow. Now how does the rest go?"

She grabbed a marker and began scribbling on the whiteboard.

"One for sorrow

Two for joy

Three for a girl

Four for a boy

Five for silver

Six for gold

Seven for a secret never to be told.

"Damn! It doesn't go as far as nine. I was sure that was right"

"Hang on ma'am, there are more lines than that." said Chris, joining her at the board. "Umm, eight for a wish, nine for a kiss, and …ten for a bird you must not miss" he finished triumphantly.

"Brilliant, Chris!" said Alex, putting the last lines on the board. "How on earth did you know that?"

"It was the theme to that kids' programme, Magpie. Remember?" and he began singing, rather tunelessly.

"No, before my time, I think" said Alex, absently, looking at the board.

"Pull the other one." muttered Ray, winking at Chris.

"OK, so nine is for kiss," continued Alex "So we need a Kiss Street, Kiss Road, something like that. Any ideas?" She started rifling through the A-Z index again.

"How about the Kiss Chase?" asked Ray "It's a poofs' club down by the docks, one of these basement places with a bar over it."

"Oooh, go there often, do we?" asked Chris in his best Mr Humphreys voice.

"Piss off!"

"Ray, that's great!" smiled Alex. "Chase is used to mean road on some of these new housing estates, and there's a bar over the club – that's got to be it! _The bar on the road of nine._"

Grinning broadly, she walked into Gene's office.

"One of these days, DI Drake, you will knock on my door first." he grumbled.

"Sorry _sir_, but I think we've cracked the bomb puzzle."

"That would be the one that I said was Special Branch's job? Glad to hear you lot have got so much time on your hands. Come on then, fire away."

Alex explained her theory, while Gene listened with his hands behind his head and a slight scowl on his face.

"Well that sounds like a load of authentic Irish bollocks to me" he said when she finished. "Feel free to enlighten Special Branch. Don't expect any credit, though – that lot will insist they thought of it first."

Gene was right – the Special Branch officer said he was very grateful for the information, but of course they were following their own leads and the situation was well under control. Alex sighed as she put the phone down. No sudden flash of light; no waking up in a hospital bed in 2008. (_Was that how it would happen?_). She picked up her pile of witness statements, and spent the rest of the morning in a fog of boredom.

Just after 12, Shaz arrived.

Alex looked up, stretching her stiff neck. "Hi Shaz. What's the verdict?"

"Oh, everything's great, thanks for asking ma'am. The doctor says I'll be good as new in a week or so." Shaz beamed.

"Hey, I know that!" she said, catching sight of the whiteboard, which still displayed the magpie rhyme. "I learned another version from my gran as well. Irish she was, full of stories. Hers went 'One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a wedding, four for a birth, five for a christening, six for a death, seven for heaven, eight for hell, and nine is for the devil himself'."

As Shaz reached number nine, Alex's eyes narrowed, and she jumped up from her chair.

"Can you come out here a minute?" she said to Gene, leaning though his doorway. "I think we may have a problem."

"Drake, you've always got a bloody problem. What is it now? Chris stapled his scrotum to the desk again?"

Chris looked up as Gene walked in to the room. "Have I what?"

"Never mind." said Alex, taking up her usual position by the whiteboard. "Listen, all of you. Shaz has just told me there's another version of this rhyme, an Irish one."

"Actually, there are lots of versions." interrupted Shaz. "The one you've used is the best known 'cos they used it on telly. It's just another example of regional folklore and customs being overwhelmed by a dominant popular culture."

"Bloody hell, Shaz" laughed Ray. "Have you been reading books again?"

Shaz looked down, a bit embarrassed.

"Hey, there's some interesting stuff in books!" said Chris, defensively.

"Aye, I know. I had a look at that Kama Sutra thing once. There were these pictures of this bird with her legs up round her ears – very interesting."

"Looks impressive, but plays hell with your hips." interrupted Alex. "Now, can we get back to the job in hand? OK, we'd assumed that 'nine' signified 'kiss', but if this other version is right, it means 'the devil'. Have we got a Devil Lane? Devil Road?"

There were lots of mutterings and head shakings. Alex looked at Gene, who was standing with his hands in his pockets, frowning at the board.

"Hobb's Alley." he suddenly said.

"What?" asked Alex, puzzled.

"Hobb's Alley. Hobb is an old name for the devil. Missed that out of your posh education, did they?"

"And there's that poncey new wine bar down there, guv – typical IRA target." Ray joined in.

Gene nodded in acknowledgement. "So what we're saying is we've sent Special Branch to the wrong place. Bloody great."

"We don't know that." argued Alex. "It could be either one. And according to Shaz there are other versions of the rhyme as well. I'm sure they've looked at all the possibilities. This probably occurred to them too."

"I doubt it – that lot couldn't find a fanny in a convent. I'd put my money on this twat using the Irish version, anyway. Right, Nancy Drew," continued Gene, nodding at Shaz. "You get on to Special Branch and tell them our happy news. You three," pointing at Ray, Chris and Alex, "With me. Time to save the day again."

**A/N Info on magpie folklore courtesy of Terry Pratchett! Next chapter to follow very soon...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Thanks everyone for the encouraging reviews!**

**Chapter 4**

Alex looked at her watch as the Quattro sped along the streets. 12.20. For once she didn't want Gene to slow down. The radio crackled into life.

"Message from Special Branch, guv." Viv's voice came through the speaker. "The bomb squad are at the Kiss Chase. They'll get someone over to you as soon as they can. In the meantime they want you to evacuate the area."

"Oh well, that'll be easy." responded Gene sarcastically. "Get some uniform out to us pronto, Viv."

"Will do, guv. Take care."

Alex rested her head against her hand. God, what a screw-up. She really hoped she'd been right first time. If this went wrong, if the bomb went off here, if she'd failed to stop another one….

"Let's just hope this place isn't too full of pissed up wankers." growled Gene, pulling her out of her reverie.

But it was. As the Quattro skidded to a halt at the end of the alley, Alex could see that the wine bar's clientele overflowed onto the street. And as they approached the bar she saw to her horror that it was flanked by a restaurant and a chip shop, both doing a roaring lunchtime trade.

Gene barked orders. "Ray – get that restaurant cleared. Chris, you do the chippy. Everyone out of this alley. Now! Bolly, with me."

Alex and Gene shouldered their way through the crowd into the packed wine bar. The noise was deafening, with shouted conversations competing with the loud music.

"Can I have your attention, please!" bawled Gene at the top of his voice, but only those closest to him turned around. Alex pushed her way to the bar and jumped up on to it.

"Quiet please!" she shouted. That got more attention, as those who hadn't heard her had at least seen her. A barman had the presence of mind to switch off the music as she brandished her warrant card.

"There's been a reported gas leak at the back of the building, so I need you to leave quickly and calmly and assemble at the end of the lane" she instructed the crowd as the noise level dropped. There were mutterings of discontent, but encouraged by Gene's shout of "Come on, you heard the lady. Out!" the drinkers gradually began to filter out into the alley.

"I always said you had a good pair of lungs on you." said Gene, helping Alex down from the bar and glancing appreciatively at her chest. "Why a gas leak, though?"

"I thought it might cause slightly less panic than shouting 'Bomb!'" she shrugged.

"Fair enough. Right, let's get ourselves out of here too."

As Alex started to follow him she noticed a canvas bag tucked under a chair by the bar. It was dark green and scruffy, and looked seriously out of place. She grabbed Gene's arm.

"I think I might have found the bomb."

"Well you can bloody well leave it where it is!" he protested, but too late. She was already crouched by the bag., unzipping it, silently praying that she was about to find someone's unwashed gym kit.

"Well?" asked Gene, peering over her shoulder, then inhaling sharply as he saw the plastic explosive, with the timer counting inexorably down to zero. "Sometimes, Bolly, I wish you weren't so clever. Now get your skinny arse out of here this instant and let's get these idiots well out of the way before we're all blown to kingdom come."

He strode out. Alex looked at his retreating back, then back down at the bomb. Three minutes left. They'd never get the alley clear in time. She was no expert, but she was fairly sure that quantity of explosive was enough to take out the whole bar and most of the alley. People were going to be killed.

Suddenly, in a moment of awful clarity, she realised what she had to do. She had to die here. That was the only way to escape and get home. And she saw exactly how to do it.

Alex picked up the bag and walked out of the doorway to where Gene was shouting orders into the still crowded alley. She put down the bag and put her hand on his shoulder. He turned round, frowning. She put her hand behind his head and pulled him close to kiss him. She felt him pull back slightly, then begin to return her kiss with enthusiasm as her other hand moved down and over his trousers. She allowed herself a fraction of a second to enjoy the feel of his mouth on hers. Then she broke the kiss, and backed away quickly, hiding the keys she'd just taken in her hand.

"Not that I'm complaining, Drake, but this is hardly an appropriate…"

"Bye, Gene" she whispered, then turned and ran, grabbing the bomb bag as she raced for the Quattro.

**Just one chapter to go...!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Thanks for the lovely reviews again. Thought I'd better not keep you waiting for the final chapter!**

**Chapter 5**

Alex could hear Gene's shouts behind her as she ran, but she hoped the shock would delay his pursuit just long enough. She flung the bag into the car and jumped into the driver's seat. She forced the key into the ignition with trembling fingers, then pulled the door shut as she slammed her foot on the accelerator and the car squealed away. She guessed the nearest dock was about a mile away – she'd got plenty of time, she thought grimly, glancing at the bomb beside her. Drive into the Thames. Explode. Go out in a blaze of glory. Save hundreds of lives. Go home.

She suddenly became aware of the roar of another engine. A motorbike had shot out of a side alley and was keeping pace with the Quattro, alongside and slightly ahead. She couldn't see the rider's face, but the long coat streaming behind him left her in no doubt of his identity. "Oh, no Gene Hunt, you're not stopping me" she said as she pushed her right foot totally to the floor.

The motorbike also accelerated. They turned on to the long straight approach to the dock, and the bike took the corner more neatly and cut in front of her. She headed for the dock in the wake of the bike, the distance between them slowly increasing. Then in a squeal of brakes Gene stopped - directly ahead of her and at the dock edge. His intention was clear - to get to the water she would have to go through him.

"No problem." she thought. "He's not real. I can't kill him. He can't die."

She could see his face now, calmly staring at her as she accelerated towards him.

"I can't kill him. _I can't kill him. _Shit!!" She slammed on the brakes and swung the steering wheel hard to the right. The Quattro skidded to a halt inches from Gene.

He was already off the bike as she stopped, and he wrenched the passenger door open and pulled the bag out. Running to the edge of the dock he hurled the bag towards the water with all his strength, and it soared high into the air. Alex jumped out of the car and followed him as he turned away and ran. They both flung themselves to the ground as an enormous detonation sounded behind them. Water showered down like a summer storm.

Alex stayed on the ground for a few moments, aware of a distant cheering. Uniform had evidently arrived in time to see the fun. She was shaking from a mixture of rage and adrenaline. She had been going home, she knew it. She pushed herself to her feet, and strode angrily over to Gene, who was standing a few yards away.

"You stupid bastard, what did you think you were doing?" she screamed at him.

"Saving your life and my car, though not necessarily in that order" he snarled back.

"I wasn't going to die, I was going to live, I was going to go home, I was going to see my daughter…" Her voice broke and her head dropped as a wave of despair washed over her.

"No, Alex, you were going to die." Gene said gently.

She looked up in surprise at the use of her name and the tone of his voice. He looked at her steadily, the look in his eyes conveying a mixture of sympathy and pain. A sudden realisation dawned on her.

"Gene, you know something, don't you? About me? Why I'm here? What do you know?"

He put his hands in his pockets, and looked down briefly, then looked back up with a tight grin on his face. "Me? I just know I'm ready for a drink, and I know you never refuse one. Now, Bolly, are you going to give me my car keys back or do I have to fight you for them?"

_Later…_

Shaz had commandeered the stereo at Luigi's, and she and Chris were singing along loudly to "It's My Party". Ray, meanwhile, appeared to be demonstrating the explosion to a couple of DCs with the aid of an ashtray and a pint of lager.

Alex watched them from the bar with an affectionate smile on her face. OK, so she was still stuck in the 1981 of her head, and she still had no idea what was really happening, but it wasn't all bad.

Gene unceremoniously plonked two glasses and a carafe of wine on the bar. He filled their glasses, then perched himself on the stool next to her. She looked at him thoughtfully as she sipped her wine. He'd been there when she needed him. Again.

"Where did you get that bike from, anyway?" she asked.

"Some daft twat left it outside the wine bar with the keys in it. Bloody good job too, as it happened, as this deranged tart had nicked my car." He glared at her briefly, before continuing, "I rather like it. Think I might keep it. Fancy riding pillion some time? I can just see you in biking leathers."

"I'm sure you can, DCI Hunt, but I think you'll find that you have to give it back."

"Pity. Anyway, DI Drake, can I expect you to sexually assault me again?"

She smiled sweetly at him "I had to get your keys somehow and it seemed like the best way to distract you. I'm certainly not planning on repeating the experience."

"Bollocks! You've been looking for an excuse to get your hand down my trousers ever since we met and now you've tried it once you won't be able to help yourself. No woman can resist the Gene-genie."

"You're hardly the man of my dreams" she said, archly.

"Na, well, I bet I'm the man in some of them. The more exciting ones anyway."

He looked into her eyes intently, and to her horror she found herself blushing, as an image of Gene in a black shirt flashed through her mind.

"Ha. I bloody knew it. Well, I'll drink to that, Bolly. Cheers!"

_Glasses clink. Fade out to the strains of "Happy Birthday" by Altered Images (number 2 in the charts that week, and one of my favourite songs!)._


End file.
